


Saturdays Like This One

by laceandgrace (thingsarequeer)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsarequeer/pseuds/laceandgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Saturdays, they just have time to enjoy each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturdays Like This One

Jensen’s far too cold-blooded to spend so much time in Vancouver. 

It’s actually one of the first things that Jared finds to tease him about. His utter vulnerability to the effects of the cold. Much to his eternal dismay, his co-star seems to figure it out the very first time they sleep in a bed together. After hours of groping hands and sweaty skin and wild eyes and tangled hair, after they’re both satisfied between the sheets, instead of behind a trailer or in a cluster of trees, they separate themselves. Because Jensen claims that he’s not much into snuggling. Jared doesn’t protest too much, and they fall asleep facing each other anyways. 

Jensen thinks he’s still maintained most of his manly dignity until he wakes up with his cold nose pressed into the very warm skin of Jared’s chest and his frigid feet intertwined in Jared’s longer legs. It’s the rumbling laugh vibrating the side of his face that pulls him from that final place between sleep and awake. He almost immediately tries to pull back, his face flushing and his lips working to spit out a reasonable excuse. Jared silences everything by bridging the gap between them and pressing a fierce, hot kiss to his lips. Even the locks of dark hair that brush against Jensen’s forehead give off some form of unexplainable warmth. 

“So much for not cuddling, Jen.” Burning fingers trail across his stomach, and follow their path downward, all the while muttering soft, meaningless complaints about _cold skin_ and _ice cube feet_ and _but god you’re so gorgeous_ in heated breaths against Jensen’s ear. 

Jensen can’t complain. After all, Jared’s using the best methods possible to warm him up.

\--------

It’s a Saturday in early November when the absence of that heat has Jensen shivering so violently that he wakes up earlier in the morning than he intended. It’s one of those rare weekends. The kind that has neither him nor Jared busy, and finds the both of them occupying one of their apartments for the entire Friday night beforehand.

But all the heated memories of the night before can’t seem to warm his blood this morning. Jensen makes a few helpless attempts to curl into a self-sustained ball of warmth, bending his neck until his forehead is pressed to the tops of his knees. The position only exposes more of his bare back to the cold air, and Jensen thumps his head against the pillow while muttering a few oaths to himself. 

Reaching for the warmth that Jared usually provides is always humiliating. The Texan giant always seems to find ways to verbally jab him for his lack of body heat in the middle of filming. But it’s not like he has an option this morning. Almost without thinking, he flings a hand behind him, his fingers stretching long to collide with warm, smooth skin – and perhaps the blankets that the larger man tends to subconsciously hoard in his sleep. (Because, really, that’s the only reason that Jensen’s body likes to migrate toward the Padalecki side of the bed during the night. He has all the blankets.)

But his fingers come into contact with nothing before they hit the fabric of the sheets again. And the spot’s not even warm from any lingering traces of heat that Jared might have left behind. He lets out a muffled groan into his pillow and calls out in a hoarse way that’s frighteningly close to a whine, “ _Jay_ …”

No answering reply comes ringing from the bathroom, where he half expects his co-star to be. Which is probably a good thing, he decides, since he might have been utterly humiliated and dubbed less manly than before. But the idea that Jared has still decided to sneak off somewhere has Jensen uneasy anyway. He sits up slowly, shivering as the cold air of the room hits him on all sides of his upper body. Jensen decides that Jared is definitely going to pay for making him actually climb out of bed to find him. The icy air that replaces the blanket’s warmth around his middle only spurs him on. He throws off all attempts at being masculine, practically leaps across the floor of the room to get to his white undershirt and boxers. It’s almost natural the way that he assumes Jared threw his clothes that far away on purpose the night before – as if the taller Texan actually gets a kick out of watching his friend scramble for body heat the next morning. 

“Jared?” 

There’s still no answer as he pads into the depths of the apartment, searching for breakfast. The coffee maker is running in the kitchen, and the pot’s halfway full. The fact that dark liquid drops are still falling down to join the rest has Jensen smiling secretly to himself. Partially because he’s told Jared not to leave his coffee maker running when he’s left the room. And partially because Jared can’t be too far. Jensen pours himself a mug of his usual morning pick-me-up, wrapping his palm around the curve to absorb as much warmth as possible. Scratching idly at his stomach, he wonders if Jared might have possibly faded into a bout of insanity that made him turn the thermostat in the apartment to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. Or it could simply be the result of some terrible, horrible, unforgivable prank on his co-star’s part. 

It wouldn’t come as a surprise. 

It’s the ray of light that hits him directly in the eyes from slightly parted blinds that interrupts Jensen’s line of thoughts. He crosses to the kitchen window lazily, has to stretch up slightly onto the tips of his toes to peer out through the part in the blinds. And he lets out a curse of pure frustration that forms somewhere deep in the sinking feeling inside his stomach. 

Snow. Fucking snow everywhere. It’s on the ground, coating the tree branches, blocking Jared’s car from leaving the drive way. Everywhere. For a moment or two, Jensen just stares and thanks whatever gods may be that he has nowhere to go today. Because fuck. There’s even little icicles beginning to form on the window sill outside, their tips dripping with freezing water that he can just imagine feeling like a cold finger being run down his spine. The idea actually makes Jensen look over his shoulder to see if Jared’s there doing something suspicious, which makes him laugh. Because Jared isn’t cold. Ever. 

It’s the only reason he likes the giant oaf so much. 

He’s just taking a step backward from the window, sipping his coffee thoughtfully, when something cold and hard hits the back of his head. He just stands in shock for a moment, before fingers timidly reach back to take in the damage. Jensen’s hand comes away almost automatically, fingers stinging with the chill of snowflakes that are quickly melting against his skin. Which is a miracle in and of itself, because when he checks, he’s still so cold that he can’t feel his skin. A few more dustings of snow fall from his head to graciously adorn his neck and fall down the back of his shirt. 

“Holy fuckin’ _shit_!” 

That thunder of deep laughter that always sends a spark of delight down Jensen’s spine is suddenly filling the empty space of the kitchen. It takes almost all of his self-control not to turn and flash Jared a good-humored smirk. But he’s wet, and moreover _cold_ , and he doesn’t prefer being that way, so he only shakes out the back of his shirt with his free hand and bites back the small smile. “Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” But Jared doesn’t mean it, and he knows Jensen doesn’t either. His voice says as much when the word is pressed to the back of Jensen’s head. Large fingers – fingers that can make a baseball look like a fucking golf ball – trace possessive patterns against his back. He leans into the contact almost without thinking, as if pressing closer can help him decipher what Jared’s trying to say through those simple caresses. It feels so normal, so ordinary. And Jensen can’t help but be attracted to the idea of spending more Saturdays similar to this one. 

They stand like that, drawing drowsy contentment from the presence of the other. Jensen’s just raising his mug of coffee to his lips again, can almost taste the bitter darkness that strangely reminds him of Jared’s hair this morning, when a familiar tongue is sweeping away the remains of snowy flakes from the shell of his ear. The stinging contrast of biting cold and soothing warmth makes Jensen’s breath catch in a word that sounds suspiciously like Jared’s name. They’re suddenly much closer than before – back pressed firmly to chest – and Jared’s fingers are tugging insistently at the hem of his friend’s white t-shirt. 

“ _Fuck_. Your fingers are _popsicles_.” Another vibration of laughter that Jensen can feel sweeping through his body, almost like they’re one person with too many limbs and two bothersome erections. 

“Would you suck ’em if they were?” 

And that’s just too much for any decent man to handle without getting something. He’s somewhere between arching into and pulling away from that chilling contact against the skin of his stomach, because it’s cold and it’s fucking _Jared_ and how can he be expected to care about temperature when his co-star is breathing hard against his ear? “G-god, Jared. I’m serious. You’re fucking cold and…And… _nngh_.” It’s a groan that rips from somewhere deep in his stomach when teeth sink into that single, sensitive spot on his throat that only Jared knows. Suddenly he’s as hard as if he didn’t just spend all of the night before fucking his co-star into the mattress, and his head’s falling back onto Jared’s shoulder, and…

And Jared’s pulling _back_. 

A growl of frustration slips through his lips before he can stop it. Jensen spins on his heels too fast. Mugs with lids haven’t been invented yet, or if they have, he doesn’t own any. The searing liquid revolts, sloshing all over his hand and burning the skin with a vengeance. “Fuck.” 

“Love it when you swear.” The tone of voice is tender, and he catches Jensen by surprise when he reaches for the wounded hand. The not-so-gentle contact of rough, masculine hands against the burn makes his breath hiss in between his teeth. “Y’know, snow makes stuff like this feel better.” 

Jensen only gapes at him for a minute. “The last time I checked, you knew I hate snow.” 

“It’s true though.” Jared’s smiling, like he’s got a secret. And maybe he does, because he’s leaning forward like he’s going to whisper dark promises and soft sins in Jensen’s ear. But he only breathes in, and Jensen can feel the little puff of warmth on his neck when his friend exhales. Suddenly, it’s just like that again. All gentle comfort from the intensity of a moment before. “And maybe I want you to play in the snow with me.” 

Jensen laughs, _really_ laughs, and wryly glances down at the growing tent in his friend’s pants. “Dude. That is _not_ what you want.” 

“Is too.” It’s not a defensive statement. Just simple honesty that he can’t argue with. Jared smiles genuinely and brushes a light kiss over Jensen’s lips before crossing the room to where their coats hang by the door. He throws the black one at his friend’s head, and then roughly pulls on his own with a mischievous smile curling the corners of his lips. “C’mon, ice cube.” 

“Dude, fuck _no_ , ma –”

But Jared’s already out the door with the screen door swinging back into place by the time Jensen can even begin to spit out words in response. He glares at the offending doorway for a moment, wringing the sleeve of his coat in his hands. It’s really not fair of Jared to pull something like this, because he just knows that he has Jensen wrapped around his middle finger. A few more moments of thoughtless nibbling on his lower lip and anxious twists of the jacket in his hands, and Jensen’s throwing it on over his t-shirt and preparing to freeze his ass off. 

But nothing can prepare Jensen for the icy blast of cold that slams into him when he steps out of the apartment. Jared has disappeared somewhere into the whiteness that’s blinding his eyes, and he just stands there on the porch, blinking like an owl would during the daytime. He’s bound and determined that nothing is going to propel him off of the front steps, and it has just started to occur to him that he could go back inside when another snowball comes hurtling out of practically nowhere to hit him on the side of the arm. 

“Damn it, Jared!” 

His friend’s huge frame is suddenly looming behind him. Rough hands come up to Jensen’s shoulders and gently shove him forward. But he’s not prepared and before he can steady himself, the shorter man is stumbling forward and landing face-first in a snow bank. Jared is quick to get to him. A moment later he feels those same rough hands warming the small of his back, but Jensen only swats them away in annoyance and rolls over onto his back. His whole face is prickling in that unpleasant way that tells him his skin is covered in snow and ice, and he puts a hand up to nurse whatever damage might have been done to his skin. The skin on the heel of his hand has been rubbed raw from breaking his fall and he stares at it with a surly expression floating to the surface of his face. 

“Fuck you, Jay.” 

Jared only grins and flashes him his famous puppy-dog eyes at his cranky tone of voice. He leans down, nips at Jensen’s jaw with his teeth and says in a low, dark voice, “Not yet.” But before Jensen can even feel the characteristic trembling spreading through his limbs, Jared is adding in a completely natural voice, “Stop being such a pussy. It isn’t that cold.” 

“The last time I checked, you were from Texas. What gives?” Jensen shoves playfully at his shoulder, trying to get himself some space to breathe and sit up. Something that feels suspiciously like Jared’s hard-on brushes against his knee as the taller man stands up. Jensen stares up at him in silent shock while he stares down, a challenging gleam in his eye. It strikes Jensen as incredibly ironic that his co-star is totally getting off on the idea that his friend is cold. “You’re a sick, sick bastard, you know that?” 

Jared grins, shakes the flop of dark hair that’s falling into his eyes. “Pussy.” He purposefully shakes off a snow-covered sleeve over Jensen’s head, casually leaning down to scoop up more snow – which he promptly shoves down the back of Jensen’s coat. 

“Shit. Stop it, Jay!” 

He cocks his head instead, takes in Jensen’s grumpy appearance and wet head, then says teasingly, “Make me.” Like they’re in kindergarten or something. He runs further out into the yard, glancing over his shoulder with that _come hither_ look that always gets Jensen’s stomach twisting in knots. It makes the other man frustrated, almost angry, that his co-star can make him feel so heady and heated in one moment…And so pissed off and cold the next. And to hell if he’s not going to teach the younger man a lesson. Their entire relationship revolves around Jared’s ability to manipulate Jensen just enough. Just that tiny bit more that’ll propel him onto further actions of his own choosing – but please them both. And why should a Saturday like this one be any different? 

It’s not a snowball fight of epic proportions. To be honest, Jensen hasn’t been out in the snow enough to quite get the idea of compacting a snowball for it to be firm throwing material. Jared isn’t bothered enough to humor him either, to tell him that he’s really any good at throwing round objects. But Jensen remembers that he can tackle from his days in high school football, and proceeds to remind Jared of that fact, discovering along the way that he’s very good at pulling the collar of a shirt forward just enough to dump a handful of snow against unprepared skin. 

It really is worth it, to see Jared jumping around in that awkward way that one only gets to see when someone has something cold creeping down their shirt. 

Of course, after payback has been properly dealt and he’s convinced that Jensen is no longer a pussy, Jared insists that they make their obligatory snowman. Unable to take anything as ridiculous as a snowman seriously, Jensen insists that they give it a chest that is most definitely not masculine and an irregularly large bottom half. Of course, somehow the words “I like big butts and I cannot lie” come up and Jensen abandons their project halfway through to inscribe the rest of the lyrics across the entire yard. Jared only watches from where he’s making snow angels on the ground, his large limbs giving the heavenly beings abnormally long skirts and stretched out bell sleeves. 

The idea of Jared stretched out on the ground – snow-covered ground, but he’s just lying there - captures Jensen’s attention after a while. His eyes are closed and stay that way, even when Jensen straddles him and presses his palms to the snow on either side of Jared’s shaggy head. But a lazy smile stretches those lips, and glove-wrapped fingers dance on Jensen’s hips possessively. Jensen is too busy staring at that long throat and thinking that it’s been too many hours since he’s kissed it last to notice. He’s just starting to run his fingers over it when Jared’s deep voice interrupts the hazy thoughts his mind is traveling towards. 

“You know, I’m not the only one with popsicle fingers. Normal people wear gloves in the snow.” 

“Normal giants from Texas don’t play in the snow,” Jensen retorts good-humoredly, dipping his head down to press lazy, open-mouthed kisses against that tan throat. A soft growl rumbles against his lips, letting him know that Jared definitely approves of this course of action. That grip on his hips tightens the smallest bit, and he sinks his teeth into the skin gently – a silent reminder to Jared that he still has bruises there from the night before. 

“Want you.” The words come out low, rough, and needy. The kind of tone of voice that makes Jensen want things in the darkness, between the sheets, where no one can judge them, because no one else is there to see. It’s a price to pay. Their silent curse of needing too much, of needing more than they can take every other Friday and in their trailers with the doors locked. 

Jensen grins against his skin. “Out here? Are you fucking crazy?” But he pushes down with his hips anyway, seeking out that perfect contact that shatters their world every single time. It has him biting his lower lip until Jared’s fingers grip the back of his blonde head and drag him down to meet his mouth. Jensen decides it’s far more preferable to have the other man nibbling his lower lip. 

“Want you _now_ ,” Jared grinds out again. His eyes flutter open and that soft, keening sound that Jensen aims for comes pouring out from between his lips when their hips rock together again just once. The skin in his cheeks starts to darken, flush that addicting light red that all the fan girls wish they could have but only Jensen gets to see. And those eyes are glazed over, almost unseeing as they gaze up into Jensen’s face. “Sh-shit. Wanna fuck you, Jen. _Please_.” 

There are too many layers. Jared likes to wear a lot of them usually, and the fact that he’s wearing a heavy coat over all of them makes it even harder for Jensen to map any kind of curves underneath his fingers. He leans down again, kisses Jared hard with biting teeth and warring tongues. It’s almost a battle for dominance, except he intends to yield eventually. It’s only a few moments before Jared’s pushing the both of them up off the ground. He stands and drags Jensen up with him, twining one arm around his co-star’s waist as if afraid that Jensen might decide to simply wander off. 

It’s all stumbling, rough caresses and sloppy kisses rubbed against the morning’s stubble as they push their way into the apartment again. The digital clock’s display is somewhere in the useless rush of information that his mind registers as Jared shoves him against the hallway wall and as he jerks the snow-covered coat from his friend’s shoulders. **9:42 A.M.** Teeth gently scraping over the swell of his Adam’s apple and Jensen lazily thinks, as he arches his body into Jared’s, just how much he really _loves_ sex after breakfast. His fingers twine themselves into dark hair – dark hair damp from a mixture of snow and the sweat that comes from running around in a heavy coat. 

Soon to be sweat of another kind. And as Jensen thinks about that, he recalls all the ways he’s so incredibly lucky. And how he just shouldn’t take this for granted. Because Jared could be other places, doing other things. But they’re here, and they’re together. Drinking coffee. Throwing snowballs. Kicking off their shoes. Making each other inhale sharply with every touch in the shadows of their own hallways. 

“ _Jared_ ,” he breathes, tugging on the fistful of hair in his hands so that he has to look him in the eyes. He swallows hard, working to earn back his own breath so that he can just say something. “We got all day, baby.” 

Jared breathes for a moment, his eyes gradually clearing until he presses his forehead against Jensen’s. “Sorry, Jen. I’m just…” 

_Not used to taking my time_. Jensen understands and tells him so with gentle fingers that trace complicated patterns on Jared’s jaw. It’s usually just about satisfying themselves so that they can get through the rest of the day. Just working off the aching need. Never about enjoyment. So they need to remind themselves on occasion – on Saturdays like this one. Jensen lets his fingers fall down to tug insistently on the hem of his friend’s shirt and then slip underneath. “You’re all mine today,” he says softly, huskily, “All mine. Every part.” 

And those last two words are significant. Because Jensen’s fingers are tracing patterns on Jared’s stomach now. The taller man groans softly, hides his face in his friend’s neck because it’s all so bittersweet and strange. Jensen’s always had a fascination for that part of him, probably because Jared is so self-conscious about it. He hates letting people see it, no matter that Sandy and whoever else always told him it was flawless. But Jensen loves to touch it, kiss it, do so many things that make Jared’s face flush when he thinks about it later. It’s so strange that he doesn’t care when Jensen sees it or touches it. 

“Every part, Jay.” 

Jared groans low in his ear. “ _God_ , Jen. Can we just… _Now_ , Jen.” And his large hands are suddenly fumbling at Jensen’s coat zipper, working it down until he can shrug it off and leave it on the hallway floor as they shove and kiss and caress their way to Jensen’s – _their_ – bedroom. 

The covers are still thrown back from last night - a pleasant reminder that only encourages and stimulates them to know that this is home. _This_ is right. Jared falls back onto the mattress, not fighting at all with any idea about this room not being his. As far as Jensen is concerned it _is_ Jared’s room, and he follows when large hands gently pull him down into the sheets and blankets. 

Jared is getting that wild look in his eyes that Jensen knows all too well. It means his entire world is spinning out of control and he just wants it now. Jensen remembers seeing that same facial expression the first time Jared shoved him up against a wall behind the sound stage – a burning mass of eager flesh and needy groans and seeking lips. He can feel it in the way that those large hands are touching him. He’s trembling, begging in his own way. “Please, Jen…I can’t…” 

“I know, Jay,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Jared’s lips. It’s not anything that alleviates the feeling, being more a brush of skin than anything else. But it’s his way of soothing Jared. His way of saying, _Sssh, I’ll take care of you_. “Just stay still for me.” Then he moves down to push Jared’s shirt as far up as it’ll go. But Jared’s not having any of it. He pushes himself up and tears the offending material off, jerking Jensen closer so that he can do the same. The moment they’re both shirtless, it’s like they’re both back in their trailers again, hands running over every inch of skin without regard for the time. Just feeling everything they can as soon as they can, because who knows when all this might be torn from them? 

Jensen eventually pushes Jared back against the pillows, murmuring huskily, fondly, “I told you to stay still.” The taller man reaches out for Jensen blindly anyway, keeping that skin-to-skin contact as much as he can while his friend slips down the bed. 

Jensen runs possessive hands over his stomach, staring and not caring that Jared hates it when he pays too much attention to his stomach. The pounding in his heart is too busy screaming _mine mine mine_ for him to hear anything that his mind might be saying as a warning. Leaning down, he presses open-mouthed, hot kisses against the skin, his thumbs hooking around the belt loops on Jared’s jeans as the other man squirms and murmurs wordless approval somewhere higher up on the bed. A gentle hand settles in his blonde hair. The contact has become so familiar over the past few months that Jensen isn’t intimidated by it any longer. A few more lingering kisses and he just pauses for a second to rest his head there and breathe in the scent of sweaty, southern skin. 

“…Jen?” The tone isn’t expectant. Just concerned as calloused fingers stroke the back of his neck soothingly. He looks up and is amazed as always. Jared’s face is flushed with need. His skin is hot to the touch. And his eyes are glazed over with lust. But there’s always that clarity there. That spark of something more that always seems to say, _If this is too much then we can stop…_

He does away with that spark by reaching for Jared’s belt which, as always, makes him laugh, because Jared insists on wearing huge belt buckles that are bigger than the state of Texas themselves. Jared hears his snicker, because he’s growling low in his throat and muttering thickly, “Shut up, jerk.” 

“I’d be a little nicer to the guy about to touch your dick, Jay. Just a bit of advice,” Jensen replies bemusedly, his fingers working on the zipper of the jeans. The sound of its release sounds too loud in Jensen’s ears, but something about it makes Jared’s head fall back against his pillow and moan. His hands are making huge fists out of the sheets, and Jensen has to remind him that he has to lift up if those pants are going to come down at all. A few last, resistant tugs and the rest of Jared’s clothes are on the floor and out of the fucking way. 

And Jensen stares, because he can. Because he never gets sick of the sight of Jared Padalecki naked and sweaty and stretched out for only him to see on the black covers of his own bed. He almost takes too long, because Jared starts squirming and twisting again. He’s mumbling and muttering, but that’s nothing compared to the gorgeous sound that comes out of his lips when Jensen doesn’t delay in reaching down to take Jared’s hard-on in his hand and fist it once. Jared’s back arches and his hips push up into Jensen’s hand almost automatically. They’re both so used to it, so accommodated to the normality of the moment, that Jensen gets right down to moving his hand just right. 

Except it’s slow and hard, because he wants this longer for Jared. He wants this to last. Something that they can both remember when it has to be a quick release behind a trailer again. Jared’s practically worshipping him with words, pushing into the pressure and begging for more because it’s _not fucking enough, Jen…Oh god, please. F-fuck, godfuck, oh my holy shit, Jen…_ Jensen just keeps stroking, savoring the velvety feel of Jared’s cock in his hand and the way that his moans and gasps fill the room and make it seem _right_. There’s just something lacking when Jared’s not there, and there’s something full about it when he’s so real and honest and in the flesh. 

The moment makes something swell painfully in Jensen’s chest, and he leans down to brush his lips against the side of Jared’s throat. The words come without thought, in a gentle voice that’s barely more than a breath. “ _Love you_ , baby.” 

Jared’s body locks, and there’s a moment of nothing more than silence when his breath catches and his eyes open to connect with Jensen’s. There’s need, and hunger, and trust and hallelujah in that gaze – a feverish hand grabs his shoulder to pull him down so that he can press a desperate kiss with lips and tongue and teeth against Jensen’s mouth. _All yours_ , he gasps into the contact, as he comes hard and fast and alive in Jensen’s grasp. 

Jensen guides him down with loving touches and murmured praises, stretching out beside him and resting his forehead against Jared’s neck as he lies trembling. “S’alright, baby. Just like that, Jay.” Jared doesn’t move until his muscles are completely still. Then he stretches lazily, rolls onto his side. The smile that curls the corners of his lips is bright enough to fill the room in the same way his words did minutes before. He pushes forward onto his elbows, brushes a kiss like a promise over Jensen’s lips. 

“Love you too, jerk.” 

And Jared always knows the best way to warm him up.


End file.
